Lent last year began with a dream of a strange, terrible flood coming, a multitude in a panic, scrambling onto buses to escape the town, a town being emptied of life. The call to me was not to join the fleeing. The call was to stay and PREPARE.
To prepare by praying lost and dying souls into the Ark of the Blessed Virgin Mary.
The months that followed were just about that – although, often, it didn’t seem that way. Each month brought pains and weeps different from the old month’s offerings. And from where I stood, all I saw was that many of the sufferings were distractions – distractions that took me away from the prayers to save the lost and the dying. Time and again, I felt as if those struggles made me go into myself to understand what was happening. I didn’t always want to go into myself. It felt like wasted time. It made me fret with frustration that I couldn’t be about the Lord’s work.
Only tonight do I see it differently.
In every heartache in the months that streamed from Lent, I was forced to face my sins; I was forced to confront the sins of others. Each time, I was not accorded the luxury of indifference. I had to suffer the fire. To cope with each burning, I fled to God.
And every time, He gave me the prayer I needed.
And every prayer was a prayer for the lost and the dying souls – both mine and others.
A new Lent again lies just beyond the sleeping skies. In a few days, Lent will slowly unbutton its weave of path for each one of us. A journey of the soul no one can afford not to undertake.
For to spurn the call of Lent is to lose souls entrusted to us.
And to lose ourselves.